


Everybody Talks

by helgaeunoia



Series: Brightwin Fics for Charity [8]
Category: brightwin - Fandom, เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of clubbing, Miscommunication, Publicist Win, Rockstar Bright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helgaeunoia/pseuds/helgaeunoia
Summary: "I'm Win. Metawin," he mumbles, ears heating furiously and wondering what the hell is going on. He's normally pretty calm when it comes to meeting 'celebrities', considering he's worked for a fair few of them despite his young age.Bright chuckles lowly and it tugs something fierce in Win's stomach as he drags his eyes up to meet the cocky rockstar's."I think you already know who I am," Bright drawls and Win wonders briefly if this is all just an act, until Bright turns away from him and wanders off to his hotel room without another word.Rockstar AU. In which Bright is a rockstar with a reputation, and Win is his new publicist.
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree & Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn, Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree/Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn
Series: Brightwin Fics for Charity [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030563
Comments: 11
Kudos: 192





	Everybody Talks

**Author's Note:**

> 8th fic. Prompt: Rockstar Bright/Publicist Win. Will continue the last batch probably next week after my major exams! x

Khao spits his drink all over the table when Win tells him.

"Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree?" he manages to choke out, eyes wide with disbelief and hands grabbing blindly for a napkin to clean up.

"Good fucking luck with that, krub," Mix pipes up, shaking his head a little at Win's revelation.

"Are you sure?"

Win sighs and rolls his eyes, adjusting his specs where they've slipped down his nose and running a hand through his already mussed hair.

"I'm certain. It's really good pay and just think of all the doors it will open for me," Win insists, emptying his glass and making to leave, "besides, all I've got to do is set up interviews and gigs and try to keep the press on side. I've done it a hundred times over already."

Khao and Mix don't look convinced.

He leaves the two (grim-faced and sharing wary glances) because he's meeting Bright at four and though it's only just gone two thirty, he doesn't want to fuck this up. 

It's a good opportunity, a really great, brilliant, fantastic opportunity he has to tell himself as he steps into pressed black trousers and a button-up white shirt. He doesn't bother with a tie and laces up black brogues, though he hates how restrictive they are and misses the comfort of his normal shoes already.

It's three and the hotel is a half-hour drive away, so he leaves to allow himself adequate time. Traffic means he gets there at three forty-five and he sits in the lobby to await Bright.

It's enough time for him to sit and worry.  _ Good fucking luck _ swims in his head as he thinks about all the things he thinks he knows about Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree. According to the media, Bright is cocky, self-absorbed, rude, wild, arrogant to name but a few. 

Turns out he has a whole lot more time to worry than he anticipated when Bright doesn't show till six.

He's moodier and a bit smaller than him than Win expected, sauntering without purpose or care though he's seen Win sitting there and it's obvious that he knows who he is. 

He's all black skinny jeans and a baggy t-shirt, leather jacket slung over his shoulder like some walking tribute. His eyes are huge, bambi-like eyes but blazing black, set on a face framed with windswept hair and finished with red, red, cherry red lips. 

Fuck.

_ Wow, wow, wow, wow _ is all Win can think until he remembers why he's here and stands up, tripping over his feet as he walks towards Bright with a hand outstretched.

Bright doesn't take the hand, crossing his arms over his body and fixing his eyes on Win's face. Those eyes slide down Win's body, slowly so that Win feels himself getting hotter under that burning gaze. He feels overdressed and stupid and awkward and fiddles with the black edge of his specs as he does when he's nervous.

"I'm Win. Metawin," he mumbles, ears heating furiously and wondering what the hell is going on. He's normally pretty calm when it comes to meeting 'celebrities', considering he's worked for a fair few of them despite his young age. 

Bright chuckles lowly and it tugs something fierce in Win's stomach as he drags his eyes up to meet the cocky rockstar's.

"I think you already know who I am," Bright drawls and Win wonders briefly if this is all just an act, until Bright turns away from him and wanders off to his hotel room without another word. 

Win feels drained already, his blood boiling at this rockstar’s ridiculous arrogance and a strange, dull ache settling low in his stomach. He groans and wishes he'd listened to Mix and Khao when he'd had the chance.

* * *

By the end of the week, Win has secured two gigs and as many magazine interviews, as well as countless nightclub and pub appearances. 

Bright doesn't turn up to the first gig and he's so drunk at the second that he can't even sing and has to be escorted off the premises. He swears too much in his interviews and he starts fights at his nightclub and pub appearances.

Win tears his hair out and Bright doesn't give a fuck.

"You know nothing about me, Metawin," Bright seethes after Win confronts him about yet another no-show gig.

"I don't? I know you think you're something special when you're really just some cocky singer that got lucky." 

He regrets the words as soon as Bright's face drops, his usual smug pretense forgotten. 

Then, in a flash, it's back again as Bright scowls and storms out.

* * *

Suddenly, things go right for a while. Bright does gigs sober and on time, though manages to maintain his bad boy rockstar image in the process. He doesn’t swear in interviews and he doesn’t get thrown out of clubs. 

Him and Win talk until the small hours of the morning sometimes and there was once when Bright fell asleep with his head tilted back onto Win's shoulder. 

If Win had pressed a kiss into the older one’s hair then nobody had been around to see.

* * *

Bright gets in a fight at a club though and the press is quick to drag him back through the mud. Win tries his best to keep up and defend Bright, but the media is hell-bent on ruining him, it seems.

"Bright, what the hell is wrong with you?" Win snaps as he holds an icepack to Bright's swollen jaw. Bright just shrugs because speaking is painful and Win briefly thinks that maybe he deserves to be knocked down a peg or two, the idiot. 

Something else though, something that has embedded itself much, much deeper in Win's thoughts is a ridiculous urge to protect the boy that he now feels responsible for.

“The guy was a fucking homophobe, what was I supposed to do?” Bright manages to slur, though his words are affected by his aching jaw and the alcohol still in his system.

“People are assholes, Bright, but you have to ignore them. That’s life, phi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bright insists suddenly, pushing Win away and holding the icepack up himself. Win fiddles with his specs.

“What, phi?” Win tries, eyebrows raised and a smirk playing on his face.

“No, phi. You’re what, two years younger than me? That’s not a big deal. And don’t try cocky, it doesn’t look good on you,” then he’s on his feet and leaving to go God knows where.

* * *

Win finds out where, though, at two the next morning when his phone buzzes urgently. He loses his bearings for a minute, forgetting that he’s in a hotel in some city promoting Bright’s newest single (though Bright, as usual, is being no help). 

The caller ID says Bright which immediately sets alarm bells ringing in Win's mind, because, really, what the hell has the boy done now?

“Bright?” Win's wide awake now and there’s no time for  _ hello, how are you. _

“Win,” comes a familiar drawl from the other end of the line, words slurred, “need you, Win, need you,” he mutters.

“I’m not a fucking babysitter, Bright,” Win snaps, about to put the phone down but then there’s another sound, like crying. 

_ Fuck. _

Win's out of bed and dressed then, slipping on shoes and grabbing car keys and coaxing Bright's whereabouts from him. 

Bright manages to mutter the address of the club he's at and Win reassures Bright he’ll be there quicker than he knows as he slips into his car. He’s met with a soft whimper that only serves to make Win put his foot down and break a few speed limits.

When he gets there at some seedy nightclub in Sukhumvit, Bright is sitting on the floor, back leant against the brick wall outside. 

There’s already a gaggle of people around him. Some of them are girls and boys taking pictures with Bright whose head is lolling to one side, barely conscious. Some of them are clearly friends of Bright’s, trying to keep the crowd at bay. Gunsmile in particular looks like he’s about to lose his cool, lashing out at photographers and nosy onlookers.

Win doesn’t think, just elbows through and loops arms under Bright’s, pulling him straight from the floor and into his chest. 

Bright whines a little, girls and boys alike trying to grab at the rockstar and claim their very own piece of Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree. 

Win tries his best to hide Bright from the cameras but their flashes are so bright and their hands are so insistent that he just ends up dragging Bright to his car as fast as he can. He bundles him in the back none too softly before flicking a v to the photographers pressing their cameras to the windows, something he’ll probably regret when he’s less wired and running on adrenaline.

Then he’s driving back to his hotel and Bright is crying softly in the back.

* * *

Win manages to get Bright in the lift and into his hotel room, though the other man leans on him and holds onto his shirt like he’s trying to bury himself right into Win. 

He makes Bright sit on the bed, leaning him against the backboard so he can support himself. Then he crawls onto the bed too, right up close to Bright, holding his face and wiping away new tears with his thumbs. 

He’s sure that this is not what publicists are supposed to do, but he’s pretty sure he’s more than just that now.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Win asks desperately, scared that Bright is on the verge of a final breakdown.

“This is what they want, Win,” Bright whispers, eyes closed to conceal the vivid black, “they want to see me drunk and cocky, they want to see me falling on the floor and throwing up, they want to see me breaking. They don’t give a shit about me, no-one does. As long as I’m selling papers and making headlines, nothing else is important.”

_ Fuck. _

“Stop it.”

“Stop what? Feeling sorry for myself?” Bright sighs. “I deserve this. No one cares about me, and that’s my reality.”

“But I give a shit about you Bright. I care, I care so much, though you are a complete and utter shit sometimes. Why do you think I stuck around?” 

Bright is looking at him now, eyes big and beguiling and still wet with tears. Then, with a sniff, he pushes himself forward and claims Win's lips with his own. 

Win barely has time to be shocked before he’s reacting, holding Bright tight around the waist and lowering him back down onto the bed, so that he’s pressed between Win and the mattress.

It’s pretty common knowledge that hooking up with your clients is bad business and yet here he is, hands tugging on Bright’s sinful locks, mouth and body wanting, hips rocking into the older one’s and breaths coming short and sharp.

Bright’s hands trace the frames of Win's specs before he tugs them off and tosses them in the direction of the side table. Then Bright’s fingers are thumbing open the button on his jeans and sliding down the zip, pushing Win's trousers down his legs and ghosting up under his top and over his stomach. 

It’s not Win's fault that he can feel Bright everywhere, that Bright tastes of cigarettes and sex, that Win wants him, needs him.

He convinces himself that it’s Bright‘s fault, that he smells too sweet and too strong and he can’t think rationally, not when the boy is everywhere and his lips and hands are persistent and intense. 

Bright is a tempest, he’s fire and ice, he’s the oceans and the skies and all the rest of that poetic bullshit.

Their clothes lay next to the bed and they’re kissing deeply, breathing hot and heavy. 

“Please, Win.”

He pulled Bright onto his lap then until the other boy could feel his hardness beneath him. 

Bright can’t stop a moan falling from his lips when he stretches him with one, then two fingers, kissing his stomach and branding him with love bites on his hips. He actually cries out when Win fills him up completely, pulling Bright down onto him but letting him set the rhythm.

Win feels like he’s on fire, everything is too intense and Bright is too much with his moans and his head thrown back, while his fingers are digging so hard into Bright’s hips that they’re sure to leave bruises. They fill the room with cries and groans, Bright dragging fingernails down Win's back and Win pressing fingertips into Bright's shoulders and collarbones.

Bright comes on Win’s stomach with a final moan, hands falling from Win's shoulders to either side of his head. Win follows with a heavy sigh, hands curling around Bright's arms where they rest next to his head. 

His eyes are closed as he comes down from his high and when he opens them, Bright is smiling down at him, eyes huge and twinkly. 

Bright closes his eyes again because that's a bit much for him to handle at the moment.

* * *

Win wakes up with the pleasant weight of Bright's arm on his stomach and the tickle of Bright's hair against his neck. He tilts his head to the side as the older one's eyes flutter open and he smiles shyly. 

Win has never seen this Bright, sweet and small and vulnerable.

"What are you thinking?" Bright asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m thinking of you."

“But I’m here with you?”

“Exactly.”

For the first time, Bright gave him a smile that says, 'thank you'.

* * *

Win has to get up then, to do damage control. 

He releases a statement to the press, saying that Bright wasn't well the previous night and that no, he's not going to be talking about it. There's pictures of and stories about him and Bright too and those are harder to deal with. 

There's a picture of Bright pressed close to his chest, Win's hand cradling the back of his head as he pulls him through the crowd. The story questions how close the two are and Win could laugh because they don't even realise that they've got it spot on right now.

* * *

When he gets back to the hotel room he has a coffee and a pastry for Bright. Bright's not in the bed though, which has been made, and his clothes are no longer on the floor next to it. He's not in the bathroom and Win knows what's going on. 

Bright's gone and Win is another notch on his bedpost. 

He laughs at his own naivety, because even though Bright was still there when he woke up, it doesn't mean that the boy actually wants him.

He goes straight to Bright's management team and resigns. They ask him for two weeks to find a replacement, and Win agrees, because he's not that much of an asshole, really.

* * *

Win still sets up gigs and interviews for Bright and makes sure he's out and about and being seen, but they don't deal with each other directly. He hasn't spoken to Bright since that morning and Bright hasn't tried to get in touch and he thinks that's just fine by him. 

Except that it isn't. 

He let himself fall for him like the stupid idiot that he is and now there's a huge Bright-shaped hole in his chest that aches and stings like an open wound.

* * *

Win knows he's being melodramatic when he wraps himself up in his duvet at home and mopes when his two weeks are up. 

Bright's new publicist is an older woman, harsh and stern and Win thinks she probably won't fall in love with him, which is definitely a good thing.

He doesn't answer the phone or the door to Khao, Mix or his mum. It's when Khao is standing at his bedroom door, arms folded and eyebrows raised that he remembers he gave him an extra key.

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?"

Win groans and pulls the duvet over his head like a petulant teenager, but Khao isn't having any of it as he tugs it right off of Win and demands that he tell him everything. Win obliges, because it feels good to actually talk about it as opposed to squashing his feelings into the deepest, smallest regions of his heart and brain and leaving them there.

Khao hugs him when he's done, soothing and protecting in the way that only someone who's known you most of your life can. He makes Mix come over too and the three of them order take-away and watch movies and go back to a time when Win didn’t fucking fall for Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree. 

It's nice until Khao and Mix are gone and Win's alone, again.

* * *

Win has been avoiding newspapers and television because he knows Bright will dominate the headlines as he always does. 

He doesn't know where he is or what he's doing, but it doesn't make Win miss him any less. Khao and Mix make sure he gets out of the house but he's so obviously miserable that even they've given up. 

He knows he's being pathetic, really, but he misses Bright with a desperation that scares him and he longs to see the older one, even if it's just once more.

What he does not expect, however, is to open the door one evening to be met with windswept hair and a leather jacket and an oh so familiar smell of musk and smoke and fame. There's no burly security guard but no crazed fans either, there's just Bright looking less cocky and more beautiful than Win has ever seen him.

"I'm glad you resigned," Bright starts, and before Win can tell him to fuck off and shut the door in his face, Bright has slammed his body into Win's and is kissing him with fervour. "'Cause it means I can do this without giving a fuck," he finishes against Win's lips. 

_ Oh. _

They should probably talk about this, whatever this is, but instead they're peeling off each other's clothes and Bright's legs are wrapped around his waist, and he pressed the rockstar’s back against the wall.

Though Win has a perfectly decent double bed in his room, he doesn't voice this as he thrusts his fingers, then himself, into Bright who apparently was prepared when he came knocking to his door. He doesn't really voice anything other than heated moans as Bright sucks and bites his collarbone. Win’s one hand curls around Bright's thigh to hold him up and the other braced against the wall by Bright's hip. 

When Bright looks up, Win leans in and kisses him, the kiss breaking off to make way for gasps and moans as both near their climax. Bright makes to reach a hand between their bodies to relieve himself, but Win is already there. His fingers brush over Bright before he wraps a firm hand around him and strokes to match his thrusts. 

Bright tips his head back to meet the wall as he lets sensation wash over him, feeling the familiar coiling of his stomach muscles and the heat rushing to his groin. Then he's coming in his hand with a heavy groan, Win working him through it as he finishes himself, head dropping to Bright’s shoulder with a breathless sigh.

They collect themselves for a moment, sticky bodies still pressed together against the wall. Bright drops his legs from Win's waist, wincing slightly when Win pulls out of him and breaks the silence with a shaky laugh that sounds more like an exhale of breath.

"Shower, then talk," Win insists, Bright nodding and kissing his shoulder in agreement.

They shower together and Bright kisses him sweetly under the warm spray, as natural as if they'd been doing this for years. They finish and towel dry, dressing with their backs to each other which seems bizarre considering the circumstances.

"How do you know where I live?" is the first thing Win asks when they're sitting down, because the curiosity has been burning him.

"You told me once and I remembered," Bright shrugs. "I reckon I owe you an apology and an explanation," he whispers, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"If I'm honest, I didn't think you'd stand a chance when I first saw you. I thought you'd be gone in a week, that you wouldn't be able to handle me. You did, though, and you were different," Bright's voice is still quiet and he's looking away from Win as he speaks. "You cared, actually cared about me and not just about money. I didn't know what to do when I found out I was falling for you and then we slept together and I freaked out. I thought I'd ruined it all, that I'd ruined us and lost you your job. So I left. Then you resigned and everything fell apart and I realised that I… I fell for you, Win." 

Bright's words are tripping over themselves as he rushes them out, eyes closed and hands squeezed together.

Win doesn't say anything, just tilts Bright's chin towards him and kisses him deeply. Bright makes a pleasantly surprised noise in the back of his throat before he kisses back, wrapping arms around Win and pulling him in tight.

"You shouldn't have come out without security you know," Win mumbles into Bright's shoulder.

"Shut up," Bright sighs, stroking his hand up and down Win's back absently.

"Does this mean we're together then?" Win asks after a beat of silence and Bright nods his agreement as if it's the most simple thing in the world. "Never thought I'd be the one saying I tamed Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree," he muses, earning himself a punch to the arm.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Bright laughs just as Win captures his mouth in another kiss.

* * *

There's a scandal of course, Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree in a secret relationship with his ex-publicist, but neither care much. 

Bright still wears leather jackets and smokes but he turns up to gigs and comes home to Win sober and loving.

"I think I love you," Win murmurs into Bright's hair one night. Bright slaps him gently on the arm, but presses a kiss to the spot right after.

"Think I love you more."

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @brightwineunoia


End file.
